by Dawn Cook
I darted a man with a bare blade at the outskirts waiting for an opportunity to enter the fray. Groaning, he fell into his companions. They caught him, their faces going terrified, not knowing what had brought him down. The call of witchcraft went up, and I palmed my dart tube before they could see.
“It’s the woman!” Captain Rylan shouted, and my brow furrowed in dismay. “She’s got poison darts. Get the woman!”
My stomach twisted. At Mr. Smitty’s rough gesture, three men circled to our back. Alex and Duncan were too busy to see, but Contessa trembled and clutched my arm. Her breath came fast, and a small sound of fear slipped past her. Torn between being angry and afraid, I pushed her arm off me. “Don’t,” I warned, and one grinned to show yellow teeth in the torchlight.
Taking one of my last daggers, I flipped it, ready to throw, warning him again. He glanced at the knife, then leered, beckoning me closer.
“Prick me with your little knife, love,” he taunted. “I’ve got my own dagger I’ll be sticking you with.”
Repulsed, I threw it, gagging as it hit him in the throat.
I never saw him go down. The other two men lunged, arms outstretched.
I backpedaled. My heels found Contessa, and shrieking, I fell. Feet kicking, I rolled, my hand pulling my whip free from my waist as I rose.
Contessa screamed. Pulse pounding, I spun. She had gone back to Duncan and was unhurt. “You won’t touch her!” I shouted, uncoiling my whip and sending it to crack in the air.
A sharp cry from Alex jerked my attention. A man had scored on him, and the prince was down on one knee. “Alex!” Contessa exclaimed, lurching past Duncan. I jerked her to a halt, pushing her to Duncan, then flicked my whip at the two men approaching. They fell back at the sharp sound, their ugly looks worse for the flickering torchlight.
“Tess! There!” Contessa cried, and I followed her gaze to Alex, down with a man grappling with him. Heart pounding, I sent the whip to strike his attacker.
The man howled, rolling off Alex. Duncan swooped forward to drag the prince to us. Contessa knelt beside him, her face pale. I spared them a quick glance. He seemed all right, his words soft and reassuring as he got to his feet, his free hand never leaving Contessa’s grip.
I flicked the whip to coil behind me, looking over the deck to find the pirates had fallen back to the limit of my reach.
“You afraid of a woman with a bit of string?” Captain Rylan shouted from the safety of the wheel. “Get them below you sons of chulls. What am I paying you for?”
One of the men took a step forward. I spun the whip over my head and brought it cracking down before him. The man retreated, his face ugly. “Captain?” one called, sounding almost frightened. A satisfied smile came over me. The waves lifted the deck, and I rode the swells easily, my feet spread wide. Maybe. Maybe we had a chance.
From behind the wheel, Mr. Smitty frowned. The torchlight landed on his face, showing me his ire. Never taking his eyes from mine, he spun the wheel.
“Coming about!” he shouted, with enough force to carry over storms.
The pirates sent their eyes to the rigging. I followed their gaze. The sails started to flutter, then rattled as the ship turned into the wind. Under my feet, the deck evened out.
“Tess!” Contessa cried, looking over my shoulder. “Look out!”
I turned. Out of the dark came the boom carrying the bottom of the mainsail. It swung with the force of the wind, unstoppable. Gasping, I ducked. White-hot fire exploded. I cried out, not hearing it. I didn’t remember falling, but the deck struck my cheek, cold and bruising.
“Tess!” I heard my sister cry, and the sounds of renewed battle.
A belled boot slammed into my middle, and I caved in on myself, unable to breathe, unable to think, drifting in the neverworld on the edge of consciousness.
“Now that,” I heard Captain Rylan say, “is the proper way to bring down a sea whore.”
Five
I think it was the smell that woke me, a rank, back-of-the-throat stench that caught in my nose and carried the scent of rat urine and wet moldy burlap sacks to my tongue. The gentle rolling and the sound of booted and bare feet on the deck above me had long ago become familiar—too familiar to wake me. And I knew it wasn’t the pain that pulled me from unconsciousness. Pain had been a part of my existence for so long, it no longer had the power to tell me something was wrong.
My stomach hurt, and my lower ribs ached when I breathed too deeply. There was a raw feeling where the air hit my wrists, and when I cracked my eyelids, the dim light hurt them. My neck was stiff, my lips were cracked, and my head was a massive ache of agony. I took several slow, shallow breaths and tried to remember.
It was the sound of the bells tinkling upon Captain Rylan’s boots that brought it all back.
My ribs hurt because Captain Rylan had kicked me. My head hurt because Mr. Smitty had swung the boom into me, and I had been too stupid to duck. Squinting, I could see that the skin had been rubbed raw from around my wrists, probably by salt-laden ropes tied about them. They were gone now, and I was thankful for small favors. I didn’t know why my stomach hurt, except perhaps because I was hungry. And my neck was probably sore from lying atop a moldering pile of wooden floats and rotting nets.
Wedging an elbow under me, I tried to rise. My head thundered in time with my pulse, and I very slowly lowered myself back down, breathing shallowly and staring at the low ceiling, willing myself not to vomit. There had been a clink of metal, and the heavy weight about my ankle gained meaning. I was chained to something.
“Tess?” warbled a voice from the other side of the low, long hold. “You’re all right!”
“Contessa,” I breathed, wanting to look but not trusting myself yet to shift my head.
“You’re awake!” she said, hushed but intent. “They hit you so hard. And you didn’t wake up. I thought you were dead. And they wanted to kill you. They wouldn’t stop hitting you, and you didn’t wake up!”
“Contessa,” I whispered, as her frantic voice seemed to scrape the insides of my eyelids and make my head hurt even more. “Please be quiet.”
“Alex tried to stop them,” she said, the sound of tears heavy in her babbling. “It took three of them to bring him down. And they forced him to kneel and Mr. Smitty took his sword. Oh, Tess, I thought they killed you!”
“Contessa,” I breathed, staring at the black mold on the ceiling. “Shut up. You’re hurting my eyes.”
She gasped, her next outburst dying. Her breath came out in a sob, and she held the next.
Feeling bad now for having told the queen of Costenopolie to shut up, I tilted my head to find her, wondering why she hadn’t rushed over and given me a good shake to finish killing me. Tongue scraping the inside of my mouth for any hint of moisture, I found her sitting in a shifting patch of sun about two man lengths away.
I sat up slowly, the thick mat of nets under me making an uncomfortable surface. The soft clink of metal drew my attention to my filthy bare ankle, wrapped in a shackle that looked as if it was used for wrists, not feet. I followed the length of chain to where it was bolted to the wall, red and white flakes of rust and salt making an ugly knot.
Taking another shallow breath, I tried to clear my head, cataloging my new state with a numbed acceptance. My underskirt was badly ripped, and the overly elaborate dress I had worn to dinner was stained by salt and brown smears of old algae. My shoes were gone, and my hair was down and tangled. Needless to say my whip, dagger, and what darts I’d had left were absent.
The stench of mold and burned oil hung thick in my nose, a black, greasy film covering most of my exposed skin in smears between the bruises. Rubbing my sore palms together, I looked across the low-ceilinged hold to Contessa. She looked better than I felt, her dress still in one piece and her useless boots on her feet. Her blond hair was lank about her face, and it had fallen to hide her features as she sat in her beam of light. A soft murmur came from her, and I realized the monotone of rhythm
haunting my pain-filled dreams had been her prayers.
The light was becoming tolerable, and I shifted a body width closer, breath held against the hurt. A cold feeling shocked through me as I realized the slump of green-and-gold fabric before her was Alex, his fair head in her lap. “Contessa,” I whispered, “what happened?”
She brought her head up, staring at me with blue eyes forced wide so she wouldn’t cry. “After the boom hit you?” she asked, her voice wavering.
I nodded, then wished I hadn’t as my stomach threatened to empty itself. I slowly worked my way off the pile of nets, finding the damp sacks beside them marginally better. At least the ceiling wasn’t quite so close. It was the limit of my leash, and I wasn’t sure I could get to her. It was stifling, but I felt cold, not hot—and sticky from old sweat.
Contessa looked from me back to Alex, her face screwing up in dismay, unable to speak. From where I was in the shadows, I took in the new bruise on Alex’s face, visible under a thickening growth of blond and red stubble. His clothes were bloodstained and torn, all the ornamentation gone. A clean, well-applied bandage showed from under his open shirt, tied to his front shoulder. He was flushed, and when I stretched to the limit of my reach, I found I could put a hand to his forehead. My eyes rose to Contessa’s. He was burning in fever.
“How long was I unconscious?” I asked, not believing this happened overnight.
“A night,” she said, her voice unusually low and flat. “The following day and night, and then up to now.”
Appalled, I counted. A full twenty-four hours, and then some. Almost two days.
Contessa sniffed loudly, wiping her hand under her nose in a very unqueenlike motion. I followed her gaze to Alex, shifting the empty sacks smelling of moldy flax to try to find a more comfortable position. “Contessa,” I prompted softly, not wanting to push her too far but needing to know. “What happened? Where’s Duncan?” My heart clenched. Why isn’t he down here? “Is he . . . Is he dead?” I asked, not liking how my voice rose to a squeak at the end.
“He will be if I ever find him alone,” she said.
The bitter hatred in her voice pulled my head up. Seeing my shocked look, she added angrily, “The chull bait is up on deck with the rest of those foul bastards—playing cards. I’ve been alone all this time, not knowing if you or Alex were going to live or die. And he’s been swilling ale, playing cards, and laughing at us, the chu pit of a man.”
Stunned, I stared at her. Duncan? He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t!
“Why didn’t you tell me he was a thief!” she accused hotly.
My cracked lips parted. “He’s not a thief, he’s just a cheat,” I said, not knowing anymore if the difference meant anything. Confused, I drew back, her shrill voice making my head pound. Alex, too, stirred, and I think that, not my pained look, made her lower her voice.
“He has a thief mark, Tess,” she said. “I heard Captain Rylan say so. The lying bastard said he owed Costenopolie nothing and that he’d rather live a free pirate than be a dead man upholding a name he owed no allegiance to.”
“No,” I protested, feelings of betrayal pulling at me. “Duncan wouldn’t do that. He’s lying so he can stay free and help us.”
My voice was low in case someone was listening. Duncan wouldn’t do this. I had to believe he wouldn’t leave me—leave us—to die. He had proven his worth a hundred times over. He had shown his feelings for me before he knew I had ties to the palace, helping me find Kavenlow when Alex’s brother had taken over the palace last spring, knowing there was likely no reward but death at the madman’s hand. He had willingly risked death to retake the palace after I told him not to. He could have stolen from the palace and run hundreds of times in the past, and he hadn’t. He hadn’t betrayed me then, and he wouldn’t betray me now.
“Contessa,” I said, leaning forward to make my chain clink. “He had to lie so he can help us. Having him chained to a wall beside us doesn’t help anyone.”
“He’s a lying, cheating, filthy dog,” she said bitterly, “leaving us here to rot while he schemes. The only one benefiting from him being free is him.”
“Sometimes scheming is more powerful than a blade,” I said, thinking of my lies necessitated by the game that manipulated her like a chess piece. Duncan was probably more honest than I was. “He doesn’t know how to use a sword. He has to rely on his wits. He hasn’t left us,” I said, an ugly sliver of doubt sliding between my heart and reason.
“But I heard him!” she exclaimed softly. “He called you a fool and said Costenopolie would fall before an heir could be conceived, much less born, and he was done with it, having gained all he could. He has betrayed you, Tess. He’s cutting his losses and moving on.”
Contessa’s voice, though low, was hard. Alex stirred. “Rose?” he murmured.
“No,” Contessa whispered, her ire falling from her like water. She brushed her pale hand over his hair and tried to arrange his tattered collar. “It’s Contessa, Alex. I’m Contessa.”
I watched her soothe him, wondering if he was about to wake but deciding he was delirious. Faint in the back of my pounding head was the memory of him calling out for his “Rose, Sweet Rosie” while I had been unconscious.
Contessa’s breaths became harsh, and she seemed close to tears again. Apparently this had been happening a lot. My heart went out to her. She had been here alone for almost two days, chained to the wall, tending her husband and unable to reach me, not knowing if either of us was going to survive. But Duncan was free, and with that, came hope.
“Contessa?” I said softly, and she pulled her head up. Her eyes behind her long, greasy hair were red-rimmed and swollen. “I’m sorry. I knew about Duncan’s thief mark. I should have told you. It’s not his. He took it for another, and he’s ashamed for having it. That’s why I never said anything. He isn’t betraying us. I have to believe that.”
The fire was gone from her, and she slumped, looking beaten, her hair falling to hide her face. Her hands on Alex never ceased. My chain clinked softly as I tried to move closer. “Tell me what happened,” I said.
The sun caught upon her hands, now empty of rings as they moved over his forehead, gently pushing his hair back. Her fingers were chapped from salt and looked sore. “The boom knocked you out,” she said, and I could hear the tightness of her throat in her emotionless words. “The sailors attacked you when you fell. Alex tried to keep them off you. I was so scared. He couldn’t do it, even with Duncan’s help. They hurt him.” She took a deep, shaking breath. “They drove a knife into his shoulder to make him kneel. He wouldn’t even then. They cauterized it this morning after I told them it was infected. It took five men to hold him down.”
I swallowed hard and reached out to her, imagining her down here listening to that, unable to help and not knowing what they had done to him until they brought him back to her.
“I don’t know if he’s getting better or not,” she said, her voice deceptively level. “He won’t eat, and the small bit of water I’ve gotten into him just burns up in fever.”
“Water?” I said, my cracked lips suddenly unbearable. “You have water?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, twisting to reach behind her. Leaning over Alex, she held a water sack out, the bloodstains under her nails looking ugly as her hands passed through a narrow beam of light.
I stretched for it eagerly, my soot-blackened hands just meeting her white ones. The sack was almost flaccid, and I sucked greedily at the tepid water tasting of hide. Three gulps almost emptied it, and I reluctantly pulled it from me, thinking I could have downed it all, but not knowing if they would ever give us any more.
“Thank you,” I said, passing it back to her for safekeeping.
Contessa took it, her hands resuming their motion over Alex. “We’re taken, aren’t we,” she said.
My gaze dropped in guilt. “I’m sorry, Contessa,” I whispered. “I never should have made you leave the Sandpiper.”
She didn’t look up,
watching Alex’s breath slip in and out of him like fire. “He said it was his fault. Before he went delirious, he said he should have known by Captain Rylan’s grip that he wasn’t a merchant. That he deserved to lose me. That he was sorry,” she whispered. “But it’s really my fault.”
“Yours!” I exclaimed, then winced when Alex stirred.
She finally met my eyes, her face miserable. “I’m so useless, Tess. I was so frightened. I should have been able to do something. You did something. You almost got us free. I should have jumped into the water when we realized we were being taken. We might have survived the water, but this?”
She gestured helplessly, and I reached over Alex to take her hand in mine, stilling its incessant motion. “No,” I said firmly. “If you had gone over the side in the black of night, you would have drowned. We all would have. They knew who we were. They’re taking care of Alex’s wounds. They’ll ask for ransom, and Kavenlow will pay it or rescue us. I never should have let that man on my boat.”
Contessa was silent. Guilt? I wondered, then changed my mind. She was apprehensive, fearful. “What is it?” I asked, not liking her air of bad news yet unsaid.
“They only want Alex and me,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “They don’t care about you. That’s why Duncan turned pirate. They were going to kill him if he didn’t join . . .”
“Contessa?” I asked, a sliver of fear for the hesitation at the end of her words.
“You killed some of them,” she said, without the barest hint of recrimination or distaste. “Alex did, too, but he’s a royal.”
“So am I. You sent notice to all our neighbors. Until you have children, I’m the third in line to the throne. Everyone knows it!” Kavenlow and the player community weren’t pleased I was still in line for the throne, but as long as I didn’t take it, they wouldn’t try to kill me. And now the pirates wanted to kill me because I was too far away?
“You aren’t royal in their eyes,” she said, her words seeming to fall over themselves in her pity. “I told them that Kavenlow would pay as much for you as for me. I promised them everything, but all they see is a gutter trull who killed their mates. It was all Captain Rylan could do to keep them from raping and killing you right then. They want revenge from you, not money.”